Autumn Face

She struggled to breathe,
Her pale face,
Cold and soft like winter,
Almost angelic,
Porcelain white framed by auburn locks,
Her eyes sunken in dark rings,
But still mesmerizing,
Olive green blended in misty grey,
Summer morning eyes,
And I took her hand in mine,
Pulse slowed in her fragile wrist,
A faint murmur echoed in her chest,
She licked her dry lips,
Cracked painfully,
Creased with bloody crevices,
I missed her loving gaze,
For now she never looked upon me,
Always down,
She was embarassed of her state,
"Mother, don't ever be ashamed.
You always were my hero."
A weak smile graced her shadowed features,
Our eyes met,
Hers so proud but afraid,
Mine blurred with tears,
How much I loved her,
That spring morning was when she left me,
But she had an autumn face.

Lovingly dedicated to my Mother.

My boyfriend says this is one of the best things i've ever written...whatever

This is a little story ( based on a true story) that I call "What do you mean, you don't believe in evolution?!" I might try and get it published, so don't steal it. (and yes, i know, it's not the most original idea)

As I look around the classroom, I can't help but laugh. How could I have not noticed this earlier? These students, they leap from desk to desk. In one corner, the females are gathered. Cautiously, I approach, careful not to startle them. It's minutes before the end of class, and their grooming ritual has begun. Fingers comb through hair, not only their own, but each others. They pull, fluff, and braid, preparing for their display to the males. Each female is hoping to get the attention of a dominant male.
In the center of the room, subordinate males are frantic to attract a female, and though a few have ventured closer, it appears their attempts are futile. One particularly adventurous male has targeted a female who is potentially in heat, and is trying to impress her with a variety of techniques. First, he calls to her, shouting "Hey baby" and "Come on, let me have your number." When this fails to attract her, the male resorts to physical feats to impress her. Not thinking of anything but mating, the male grabs a guitar set against the wall. He proceeds to strum a few chords, and then the male who owns the guitar notices.
"Hey, put down my guitar, faggot," the latter male says, attacking the other male's sexuality. Oh, the irony. The male holding the guitar continues to play, a blatant disregard of the guitar-owning male's superiority. Tension builds between them. The obviously irritated superior male makes a joke about the eager male's heritage, in particular, his mother. The eager male knows his dignity is at stake, and confront the superior male. Neither can back down, seeing as they have now attracted the attention of the group of females. Faces inches from each other, I am amazed at the intimacy between them, as they prepare to fight.
Just then, the alpha male shouts "Sit down" and the weaker males forget their battle and obey, as do all of the other students. Anxious, they can hardly sit still, chatter and laughter filling the room. They really are such social creatures. The bell rings and the students stampede out the door, jumping over chairs and desks to get out. I laugh again. Who could doubt evolution after seeing this?

Tell me what you think :)

Might get published someday

This is a little bit from a novelish piece I am writing. It's working title is "Just Another Dystopia" Um, there's really no good place to start, and I don't feel like sharing the beginning just yet, so let me just catch you up. It's in a future government-ruled, social darwinism, collapsing society. The main characters (so far) are Brit, a junkie who is an aspiring writer in a world that doesn't need writers and a lazy slob who is in love with Randy, her government working, secretly gay (not to Brit) because he doesn't want to lose his job boyfriend. At this part, Brit has just overdosed and taken another pill to help her feel better.

"I know," said Brit, "Why does everything have to change?" Randy shook his head and sighed. Brit shivered, then started coughing. Her stiff back almost broke as the coughing heaved her chest up. Wheezing, she imagined her lungs collapsing. She hated the "health rejuvination" pill. It was worse than the original pain.
"Give me your arm," Randy spoke softly. Limply, she outstretched her arm to him. Precisely, gently, a razor buried itself in her arm. Blood flowed in dark lines down her arm, warmly streamed onto her hands, finally dripping off of her fingertips. Randy placed a plastic bowl under her fingers. Steadily the dark liquid filled the bowl. Brit's eyelids fluttered. She was close to fainting.
"That should be enough," Randy said to himself. A hand went into his pocket and then a thin white piece cloth was wrapped around the bloody wound and tied very tight. It would take a while for the blood to clot. The "health rejuvination" was also an anticoagulant. "Hold on, Brit," Randy whispered. Brit's eyes were closed, but she was still concious.
"Don't be late for work." Brit mumbled, not opening her eyes. Randy sighed.
"Brit , don't. Okay?" He was nervous. Brit nodded, then shuddered, convulsed to her side, and vomited. Randy didn't say a word as he searched for a towel, and wiped her mouth. She had a cold sweat.
"Brit," he began, but she had passed out again. Randy got up from the littered floor and went into the other room. "Teddy" had left long ago, but his red boxers remained on the floor next to the make-shift bed of packing foam and dirty sheets. Randy collapsed onto the bed. He could hear Brit in the other room, wheezing as her body tried to cleanse itself. Why does she do this to herself? he thought. He let the thoughts lift from his mind, assuring himself the pill would work. It had always worked before. His muscles relaxed, his legs dangling off the side of the bed. He had to work in just a few hours and he hand't had any sleep. He needed sleep.
"Damn it," he mumbled, stubbing his toe on something as he searched through a nearby pile of clothes for his suit. He found it, not too dirty or wrinkled, and slid himself into it. Then he was asleep. His suit wasn't the most comfortable pajamas, but at least he'd be ready. He slept deeply, snores echoing through the two room apartment, slipping into Brit's dreams. Night faded around them.
Short sharp screeches burrowed into Randy's tranquility. His hand jerked reflexively turning off the alarm. Silence consumed the air. Randy opened his eyes, still tired and suddenly uneasy. He didn't hear Brit's breathing. Slowly, as if one wrong move would prove his fear true, he pulled back the cover and slipped his feet into his shoes. Each footstep was an earthquake, each heartbeat an explosion in his ears. He was in the doorway. Brit still lie on the sofa. He couldn't see if she was breathing. His heart stopped. Time stood still. Then Brit gasped for air, her face flushed and exhausted. Randy ran to her side, leaned over her, and smiled, nearly crying with relief. Brit coughed and specks of blood splattered on her shirt.
"Thank God," Randy whispered and left for work, the door creaking behind him. Brit's eyes fluttered open, huge dilated pupils exposed.
"Randy?" her hoarse voice purred. Painfully, she turned her head, bones cracking as she did. She pushed herself onto her elbows and glanced into the other room. He wasn't there. Brit frowned and began to sigh, but a cough caught her and more blood stained her clothes. Her whole body ached as she got to her feet. She dragged herself to the doorway and clung to it for balance. She saw the unmade bed and "Teddy's" red boxers. Another coughing seizure. She pulled herself to the chest of drawers up against the only window. In the top drawer, she found what she was looking for. A bright pink pill that stuck in her swollen throat when she swallowed it, but soon disolved. "I'll feel better in no time," she thought.

I know it's not a finished product by any means, and this part might be a little bit confusing, but really, the whole first part is. The audience I was going for was young adult, who might relate with revolting against the government and sympathize with the young adult characters. Now some questions for you.
Did you find this section confusing? If so, was it just because it was out of context or because of the wording?
Did you find it interesting? Was the part when Brit was possibly dead exciting?
Do you like the characters? Would you want to read the rest of this book?
Please add any comments you want, just don't be too mean.

Dolce (an experiment in writing about music...don't be too mean)

Dolce. That's what it reads over the staff, floating angelically in the silent space above the sound. Dolce, I almost laugh, as I curve my wrist and pluck the string with all the force and strength those silent letters try to discourage. Vibrance, beauty, magesty all flood the room, immersing it in deep bold sound. This song is so known to me that my fingers dance wildly from string to string without thought or reservation. The high notes ring out like angel's voices, full of light, and echo through the room above me, forever drifting skyward. While the lower notes spill over me like a wave breaking, vibrating through my soul and then puddling on the floor like a long velvet dress. They pulse into the wood, which holds them like a memory. I see my hands in their frantic precision and the harp peacefully still in beautiful contrast, and I know this song is the song of my life. Sweetly? How naive, for the song of life is never pure and sweet.

Goodbye Stranger

Goodbye Stranger,
It's odd I do not know you better,
You were always there, through all my life,
Love, support, whatever I needed,
You always tried to know me well.

My dear Stranger,
I do not know what lacks in us,
That keeps you far and lonesome,
Arms that held, whenever I needed,
What keeps us close yet distant?

Stranger, whose blood runs in mine,
Perhaps i'll never know you,
You're always there, but i'm all alone,
Tears don't help, whenever they fall,
I guess everyone is all alone.

Goodbye Stranger,
I know I cannot know you better,
The years will pass, you'll always be there,
Someday, my arms will hold a stranger too,
And dearest Father, i'll think of you.

All About Plot

Well, i'm supposed to talk about plot. As a story writer, I consider myself a bit of an expert on plot, even though I tend to focus more on character. Well...what should I tell you. Hold on, let me read the directions...Alright, first off, I believe that something can be a good narrative without a strong plot. For instance, "The Catcher in the Rye". I personally don't believe that the plot is very strongly developed in "The Catcher in the Rye" considering that throughout the story, nothing interesting (except the prostitute thing, and teacher thing) ever really happens. It is almost completely character development, and I believe it is a wonderful amazing book, so of course, I would be a hypocrit if I said that a story needs a strong plot to be good. Okay, let me look at the directions again...okay, now i'm going to tell you a little about what I personally do to develop plot as i'm writing. One of the questions i'm supposed to answer is do I outline the story before I start writing. Well, no. See, I always get a basic idea in my head, but I try to keep the story pretty much open so that a) my writing can flow naturally and b) so I don't get so used to and sick of the storyline that I get bored with my writing, because for me, if I get bored, I don't want to do it anymore. Ummm, what kinds of narrative plots do I write, you ask? I write alot about futuristic situations, so the plot tends to revolve around characters trying to either overthrow, escape from, or conform to the government/society. I also write alot of plots where....well, all kinds of things, actually. I don't know what kinds of plots I write! I just write stories. And yes I do start with the characters and let the plot develop from them, but I usually create a very basic plot when thinking up characters, so it's kind of simultaniously (shut up about the spelling). About first person and third person, I like both. I love how with first person you tend to understand the main character's motivations more and also get much closer to the character, and I usually write in first, but the last two stories i've started, i've been writing in third because these stories depend a whole lot on theme and to really get the "big picture" across and the motivations of other characters, I feel it works best in third. And it's working out fine. And yes I do try to trick the reader, so that it will be a more dramatic climax usually or to make it a more interesting story (I love plot twists. I live for them. Like remember Vanilla Sky? omg, I had no idea...okay now i'm rambling). And one last question, how do I create tension in the plot. Well, I tend to go for the amazingly blunt easy way of creating tension by putting my characters in intense amazingly strange situations (because I find those stories the most fun to read) so I can't really help you there. Alright. "That's all I've got to say about that"-Forest Gump